


The Necklace

by Ellisaed



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2492225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellisaed/pseuds/Ellisaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Padmè's japor snippet hadn't been buried with her on Naboo? What if it had somehow been able to bring together the children that had been torn apart? And with her husband - now a notorious Sith Lord - on a endless search to regain the necklace back, will it end up being the galaxy's greatest mistake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It was not a special thing, nor ever was. It couldn't be, wouldn't be and did not attempt to be. Yet, to a few, it was somehow held dearer than the most precious gem, kept safe like a secret and held close like a child. Japor wood was not rare, not expensive or difficult to shape. It was low grade, good for trade, cheap. When a certain small slivered edge, fragmented from a haul of furniture shipping through Tatooine, had glinted in the twin sunlight and caught the attention of a certain young Tatooinian boy, it had become something. A dull kitchen knife had worked away the impurities, sanding the abrasiveness, polishing the dullness, until it became something almost special; but it was not a special thing._

_A strange innocence could be suspected when eyes met it, the pale faded ivory a pure sight. At the same time, the etched designs and thin veins of brown seemed impure and tainted with darkness. To the knowing eye that meant so much, reflecting the past of two unsure children and a token of remembrance, of discovered feelings and love laced with dark secrets and scandals. It had been meant to grant fortune, but ultimately brought death. Still, it was not a special thing. Who would have known the true journey of it, or the meaning? The little boy who had found the tiny wood chunk in his homeworld sands and smoothed it beautiful? The young girl, the receiver, who accepted the token unbeknownst it would seal her fate? The weary Jedi Master at the deathbed of her, burdened and heartached and soon to be the keeper of this secret key?_

* * *

 

". . . Obi-Wan - "

"It's alright Padmè." Obi-Wan stroked the young woman's cold, limp hand. He struggled to find the strength he usually saw in her deep brown eyes. "Don't give up."

The eyes were glossy, unfocused, weak. Sweat laced her drawn brow. It took great effort for her to even speak, "Anakin . . . where's Anakin? Is he here?"

Obi-Wan hesitated. He shook his head slowly, "No, he's not."

Little did she know, and he withheld from her, of Anakin Skywalker's true whereabouts. Obi-Wan justified the secrets he did not share, knowing how her heart already was breaking; how could anyone take the news of the one they love becoming the one they had to hate?

Padmè cried out again, and Obi-Wan squeezed her hand gently, praying for her pain to end. The surgical theater was cold and stale, and his feet tired - amongst other things.

The Jedi was drained, mentally, unable to process how much everything had become so horribly wrong, and yet was his reality. Obi-Wan did not realize how much he had clung to securely, despite the Order's attachment ban. The Temple, in ruins then, had been like his home. The Republic his backbone, the Clone Troops his companions, the Jedi his family. And Anakin . . . He felt it physically from loss of sleep, stress he did not fight and the gruesome, harrowing battle he had fought just hours ago, evidence seen on his scorched tunic and burn-tender skin. His head ached, thoughts an endless loop inside it: _If you're not with me . . . you're my enemy . . . I hate you!_ Emotionally, he felt it most of all. It was all too much, too soon.

"Is it . . . Anakin thinks it's a girl." Padmè managed into Obi-Wan's thoughts, her voice breathless but contented by thinking of the man, "Is it . . . ?"

"We don't know yet. Just hold on." Obi-Wan encouraged her gently; he managed a glance to the end of the table, at the Pollis Massan Medical droids assisting with Padmè's labour; he could not read their blank squarish faces, but knew and denied the truth. He had to be strong for Padmè, to show her to likewise be strong. They had informed him that she was dying. He saw the young face tense in pain again and winced as she cried out -

The wailing was a glorious sound, and Obi-Wan smiled to Padmè, both him and the weak mother looking to the droid as it handed her baby to him, announcing softly, "A boy."

"Luke . . ." Padmè smiled, the Jedi holding the squirming little infant close enough for her trembling hand to caress; the skin was warm and ever so soft, and he was so beautiful even yet. Obi-Wan carefully cradled the child, brows furrowed at the change in Padmè's face when she withdrew and cried out, breathing heavily.

 _Oh yes_ , he remembered, _there is another._

Again, at a cry the droid revealed a tiny baby, holding it so that Padmè could see; Obi-Wan translated the words it spoke, "It's a girl."

". . . Leia." Padmè had grown quiet, as though she fought to stay awake. Obi-Wan knew, then.

Desperate, he called to her as if she was somewhere far away, "Padmè, you have twins. You must hold on."

Padmè, those brown eyes deep in pain and sorrow rolling back, drawing her away, whispered, "Obi-Wan . . ."

He leaned nearer to the weakening voice. The trembling hand in his own relaxed, but fingers pressed something into his palm with the firmness he remembered; Obi-Wan looked, seeing a leather cord there, but his eyes were taken up to her face as she spoke again.

". . . there's good in him . . . I know - I know there is . . . still . . ."

The lips ceased, the head limp, and like a phantom wind her life was snatched away in the Force. Obi-Wan stared momentarily, the infant in his arms screaming in distress. His eyes looked out of the surgical theater, to Master Yoda, Bail Organa and the droids who watched solemnly.

By Yoda's expression, Obi-Wan sensed he knew.

Suddenly, he became aware of a dozen different scanners and monitors erupting in distressed sounds, and the droids took the baby and bid him quickly from the room.

* * *

 

_"I made this for you." Anakin Skywalker looked to his hands that concealed his precious gift. He was never usually shy, but she somehow made him that way. He wanted her to like it, to see it to be as beautiful as she was. "So you'd remember me - I carved it out of a japor snippet . . . it will bring you good fortune."_

_He offered it, letting the small amulet dangle a little as he passed it so it could see the starships dim lights. Padmè, who sat close beside him, looked to him with her bright brown eyes and smiled. She took the necklace and inspected it between her fingers, stroking the carvings he had ensured were precise, the rivets and edges he had smoothed shiny. Anakin bit his lip, blue eyes blinking nervously._

_Padmè put the necklace over her head, and said softly, "It's beautiful. But I don't need this to remember you. How could I forget my future husband?"_

_Anakin met her eyes, his cheeks blushing, and he beamed._

* * *

 

Obi-Wan stood stock-stiff before them, See-Threepio making a mechanical hush to his counterpart whirring sadly. The silence did not concern him, or register in his mind.

"Is she . . . ?" Bail inquired gently, unknown due to lack of Jedi abilities.

Obi-Wan could not respond.

"One with the Force, Senator Amidala has become. At peace." Yoda looked up to Bail as he spoke the words, though they seemed untrue.

Obi-Wan was sure they were. He barely breathed. His fingers rubbed the item in his hand. He blinked, but did not move. His eyes searched the tiny square of wood strung in the leather cord, searching for the answer to the question yearning.

Master Yoda hobbled closer, inquiring, "What, there, have you Obi-Wan?"

The taller Master did not respond physically, but whispered, "She gave this to me. And I . . . I don't even know what it means."

Obi-Wan looked to the elder Master in distress, in sorrow, but he knew Yoda did not - and could not - give him any answer to the unspoken question. The green-brown eyes, those same ones he had during his Jedihood both resented and cherished, soothed him.

"Buried with her, it should be, perhaps." Yoda suggested gently.

Obi-Wan looked again to the pendant, feeling in the Force the bond intertwined in it, the depths of heartache and struggle mixed with a passionate love. He felt Padmè - he felt his Padawan.

Obi-Wan nodded to Yoda, but tucked the necklace away into his robes as he replied, "Perhaps."

* * *

 

Obi-Wan stood in the stance he often did, the one he felt most comfortable in. His left arm was across his chest, and his right elbow rested atop, thumb and forefinger upon his chin. Often he had stood like this on a high ridge overlooking a battlefield, contemplating strategies aside General Cody, aside his former Padawan, Anakin Skywalker. All of that was gone, then, and his surrounding changed in drastic parallel.

The Jedi Master stood in the private nursery of Padmè Amidala's newborn babies, gazing upon the tiny bundles wrapped snuggly and resting in the dim warmth of the room. Pollis Massan nurses strolled about busily but noiseless, the only sound Obi-Wan detected being the soft sound of his and the children's breathing. He had retreated there to find peace, or at least the illusion of it. Senator Organa had set out to ensure the Med Centre would keep no record of the recent birth and to arrange the funeral for the recent death. Obi-Wan had asked to assist him, to keep himself busy, but Bail had refused. The man knew the Jedi was pushed beyond fatigue, and had encouraged him to rest. Obi-Wan stroked his beard, observing the little girls bluish eyes that squinted from the harsh light of life, contentedly blinking up at him. Those eyes would turn brown, Obi-Wan could tell. Her brothers, he had not yet seen, the boy sleeping then quietly.

Despite his own exhaustion, Obi-Wan could not sleep, and doubted he would be able to for quite some time. Force, he could not even calm himself enough to meditate yet. How could he? How could he give himself voluntarily to the nightmares that awaited? The terrors of the blank stares of slain Jedi Younglings, the smoldering rage of his brother and friend, the final whispers of Padmè?

The little boy gave a small cry, squirming uncomfortably, and Obi-Wan reached and rubbed the infant gently, hushing his whimpers. A Kallidahin nurse found them at the sound, glancing up to the tall Jedi with tiny eyes on its pale squarish face and offering Obi-Wan a warm bottle. The Master thanked the being, carefully lifting the baby in his arms for the second time that night and soothing the pitiful sounds he made.

"Luke . . ." Obi-Wan spoke aloud for the first time, and the baby seemed to respond, taking the bottle in his mouth and drinking.

He had been reluctant to accept the name, as if in hope that these two precious lives were not truly born in the midst of such tragedy, not victims of Anakin Skywalker's wrath. Not truly the offspring of him. It was true, though. The Jedi Order itself had collapsed, the Republic, amongst other things. Obi-Wan couldn't help to think it was all due to this secret. How, he wondered, could they have been so blind?

Obi-Wan rocked the baby back and forth gently, admiring Luke's gossamer hair and knowing that it would grow full and blonde, just like his father's. Just like the little boy he had met on Tatooine, with a lust for attention and praise and nothing but over eager. Much pruning, it had taken to weed out those little tendencies in Anakin, much, much pruning. Obi-Wan usually smiled in remembrance of those early times, the innocence of the two of them both young and unsure, but could not then. Not yet.

The baby in his arms stopped drinking, lulled asleep by a full belly and the comfort of his arms. Obi-Wan placed him in his cradle again, looking to see the little girl, Leia, fussing and squeaking at the lack of her brothers presence close to her own. Sadly, he knew both of them would have to grow used to being apart. He knew, and had known ever since their birth, just how Force sensitive the two were, and how endangered likewise. They were to leave in the morning, plans already being considered of an increasingly necessary separation. From one extremity to the next, the closeness of the womb to opposite spectrums of the galaxy, in hope - a bright hope - of keeping them safe during these tumultuous times.

 _So shall I go_ , Obi-Wan remembered with a sigh, rubbing Luke gently as a whimper escaped him. Just like the twins, his Force sensitivity was far too great to remain unnoticed.

"We all have to hide, don't we?" Obi-Wan whispered, Luke soothed by the deep, gentle sound, "Just for a while. Until the time is right, young one, and you become . . ."

The baby squinted up at him, his eyes a familiar blue, and Obi-Wan smiled involuntarily, ". . . you become a Jedi."

The Master carefully lifted the child, placing him in his sisters bassinet with her, both babies quieting their upset in the soothing of the others presence. Luke's forehead rested on Leia's temple, both drowsing off into sleep again; the last time they would be together for quite awhile, they might as well be together. Obi-Wan, in remembrance, reached into his robe and grasped the amulet given to him. In the bright nursery lights, he saw clearly the meticulous lines carved from the pale japor ivory wood, an untrained yet careful handiwork. It must have meant something to Padmè, enough to while in her dying moments take time to pass on. He could sense that it was not meant to stay with her, or to be buried. Padmè would have wanted it to be kept dear.

 _And that I will ensure is done_ , Obi-Wan decided, reaching inside the cradle and caressing both of the babies tiny cheeks with his forefinger in farewell, squeezing the necklace in his hand as tears threatened. His throat was thin as he closed the door behind himself, leaning against it as he slipped the jerba cord out of the wood, finding his multitool form his belt. The amulet was a weak wood, and with the application of the small knife and a gentle, careful hand, he sliced the pendant in two even halves.

Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed as he sat on the cold floor and put his head in his hands, exhausted and barely able to hide his deep lament in the Force from the fragile lives that he knew could sense it.


	2. Chapter 2

Bail Organa, forehead lined with deep solemnity, stood and watched the sunrise over the horizon of the Nubian Lake country on his private veranda. He was dressed in his best suit, a rich navy and grey frock accented by an ochre sash slung from shoulder to waist. His attire had been changed from the previous black of mourning, and gladly. He was anxious for all of the sadness to cease.

The morning air of Naboo was crisp and soothing, but Bail could not relieve the hollow in his stomach. Images of the funeral still flashed clearly in his mind: the casket, and the too young woman inside, her parents in tears and the Nubian spectators struck silent. Even he was still shocked, wondering if it had all been a dream and Padmè would join him on the veranda, cradling her children -

At a whimpering, he turned to see his reality. His young wife and queen Breha swayed gently side to side in her long dark gown, her hair pulled back as all Alderaanian women wore it, and covered mostly by her headdress. Dark eyes beamed upon their little girl, a smile on her lips that Bail swore had been there ever since Leia's arrival.

He took to her side, peeking over his wife's shoulder and lifting the blankets from Leia's face. Breha swatted his hand playfully, "Don't - she will get a chill!"

"Pish posh, she needs some Nubian sunshine!" Bail was brightened by his wife's joy and as he lifted back the blanket, by gazing upon his daughters face, "How is our Princess today?"

Breha shrugged, "Better. We managed a bit of breakfast, but she has been fussy ever since Master Kenobi began preparing Luke to leave."

Bail met the her eyes, the queen bouncing the child who seemed upset at her fathers concern, though her mother was indifferent, "She knows, that's all."

"She is a special child, gifted."

"Like her mother." Breha answered, and repeated lovingly to the child, "Just like your mother."

Bail agreed somewhat, watching his wife bounce the fussy infant, somewhat. Padmè Amidala had been a very persuasive, intelligent and somehow elegant presence in the Senate, one he felt at losing. She had also been his close friend.

He still did not understand everything concerning the Jedi business, or how Padmè had gotten caught up with it, but Obi-Wan had explained to him that the Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker had sired her children. He knew that Leia's gifts came not from Padmè, but from her father. Bail knew that his daughter had special insights and abilities he did not understand, but knew were potentially dangerous.

Bail was not sure if this upset him or not, but before he could decide the veranda doors opened, revealing Master Kenobi.

Obi-Wan shouldered a small rucksack over one arm, the other comfortably cradling Leia's twin who was sleeping, like usual. The man's garb hinted at his looming journey ahead, the brown robes clean and layered and beard trimmed. Obi-Wan smiled to both of them reassuringly, but Bail could see through it. Behind it was a man suffering worse than he had seen any man had to suffer.

Yet again, Bail knew little details of the exact tragedy, but he knew enough. Padmé's sudden passing, the obliteration of the Senate into a new Empire and the destruction of the Jedi Order - all due to the handiwork of a "deceived, brainwashed monster", as Obi-Wan had said. Bail had not pressed for anymore details.

The Jedi stood before Breha then, and Bail could hear his gentle voice, "I thank you for your hospitality, my queen, during this confusing time. I am in debt."

"Please, call me Breha." The queen replied, hiding her sadness due to his farewell, "You have done so much Master Jedi, I'm sure the galaxy's debt to you will suffice."

"Please, call me Obi-Wan." They laughed softly, momentarily.

"You are welcome to Alderaan anytime; we are always waiting for you." Breha hoped to give the Jedi security in knowing this, "Just ask."

"Thank you. Best wishes for your new family." Obi-Wan began to bow, but Breha placed a hand on his shoulder; he looked up to her, expression confused.

"A bow just won't do, Obi-Wan."

She quickly kissed him on each cheek and embraced him with her free arm, the Master at first surprised and uneasy with the gesture. He relaxed though, hugging the woman back gently with what Bail detected as a sigh.

And then, Obi-Wan was beforevhim. His smile was light, but his blue-grey eyes were glossy and shadowed, sad. Bail figured his own expression was just as grave, for the Master scoffed and mumbled, "Don't look so morbid; you're making it seem like I'm heading off to the gallows."

"No one's ever told me a good word about Tatooine." Bail reminded him, "Or about the joys of exile."

"Believe me, I'll adjust. I've been lacking peace and quiet ever since the war began."

"Promise me you won't stir up any Sith Lords while you're there." Bail joked lightly.

Obi-Wan chuckled, but it was distant and forced, to cover yet again his sadness. He sighed and continued, "Bail, I thank you for -"

"Obi-Wan. I'm sorry."

Obi-Wan drew his brow, "You have done nothing to wrong me -"

"I am sorry . . . as your friend, for everything that has gone wrong." Bail saw the Jedi's face soften, "For the Jedi and the Republic and your family."

"Family?" The question was incredulous.

"Padmè and . . . Master Skywalker."

Bail slipped a hand into his robe, "Now, do not be upset - it isn't much, but it will last you . . ."

He handed Obi-Wan a small sachet with an Alderaanian symbol printed on the outside; the Jedi looked quizzically inside, and handed it back indignantly. His voice was soft with hidden stubbornness.

"Bail, I do not need nor want your money -"

"I need to give it to you. To know you will keep him safe." Bail looked to the baby, but back up at the man, "And yourself. The galaxy needs you more than you know."

Obi-Wan held his breath. Breha, seeing the slight upset, went to move to the man but Bail gave her a look, and she came to his own side instead. The Jedi clutched the sachet and looked out into the foggy lake below them. Bail knew it was difficult, for Jedi did not accept gifts. But the man nodded. "Thank you. I have a gift for you in exchange - or, for the little one."

Obi-Wan stepped nearer to Breha again, reaching into his robes and revealing a tiny hoop of leather. A small pendant of pale wood with designs etched about it dangled from the end.

"What's this?" The queen inquired, and Bail recognized it as Padme's, remembering the medical center and the gift the Jedi did not understand.

"A gift . . ." Obi-Wan reached carefully, and Breha held little Leia out a bit so he could slip it over her head, tucking it under her tiny dress. ". . . from her mother."

Breha bowed her head in gratefulness, "We will cherish it well."

Obi-Wan nodded. "The Force be with you always."

With a final bow, the Alderaanian king and queen watched him depart slowly. Bail held his wife close to himself, silently promising to hold dear the things he cherished most. Because for some, that was all they had.

Yet, it was always enough.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

(Five Years Later)

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"No no no!"

"Princess, please -"

"No! No no no!"

"I need not inform your mother about this - now be a lady and come here so I can do your hair!"

Leia Organa ignored her nursemaid Rena who chased after her as she continued to skip about her bedroom. She hopped over her bed, hopped past her vanity, hopped past her closet and back again. She spun around in circles, her long dark hair loose behind her, with her favorite stuffed bantha from her daddy that she named Oori.

It was a bright morning on Alderaan, and Leia was a bit grumpy. Sometimes, when she was so, she decided to be defiant. Like every morning her hair needed to be done. And like most mornings, Leia put up an honest fight against it. It didn't help that this morning, she was grumpy too.

"My hair looks best like this Rena!" Leia protested, skipping a bit faster and trying not to giggle when the nursemaid grabbed at the hem of her pink nightgown, "Just like this!"

"No, Princess." Rena refused, pulling up her skirts and huffing tiredly; she was used to this, Leia knew, for she had not only been her nursemaid but her mother the Queen of Alderaan's too. Stubbornness was a family trait, as Rena told her in times like this, and it gave her grey hairs.

"Your mother requested that you attend a meeting with her today, and that means your hair must be combed and braided!"

Leia shook her head, peeking between the sheer canopy of her bed and pausing to address the nurse, "Can't I have it long? Please Rena? It feels so much better like this!"

The nursemaid, face reddened, denied, "All of the other little girls on Alderaan wear their hair done -"

"That's the point!" Leia cried, stomping a slippered foot, "I don't want to be the same, I want to change!"

Quickly, she hopped from her bed and darted to her closet as she skipped past and shut herself in, Rena giving a cry of frustration. "Princess! None of this - come out this instant!"

Leia shook her head, holding the handle shut with one hand while the other held Oori close to her chest. "No." she whispered to herself.

Too many things she did the same each day: waking at six, eating at eight, lessons at ten with Sir Erasmus one day and meetings with mum or daddy at eleven the next, playtime only if she behaved "like a princess".

Leia did not like being a princess, for she was always the centre of attention wherever she went. Her parents and her could barely go out without people following them around, so most often she was stuck in the palace. The palace was fun, for she had Winter to play with sometimes and had many toys, but her parents were always busy. It seemed sometimes that her parents only gave her attention when she did something bad, not good. That made Leia upset.

"Princess . . . please, open." The muffled voice of Rena called, but Leia heard footsteps, footsteps, and her bedroom door close: she had left, like she usually did after a while. The princess sat with her stuffed toy in her lap, pleased by the quiet and solitariness. She liked being alone sometimes.

"Only nursemaids and nanny droids care for me." Leia whispered to Oori as she stroked her fur, making out the shape of her furry face in the dark. "And you too, Oori."

Subconsciously, her fingers found the pendant around her neck, the one she'd worn ever since she could remember. Leia always wore it because sometimes she would get strange feelings: sadness or pain, not from herself but inside somewhere. She had always had these feelings too.

Her mother, Queen Breha, had told Leia that when she was small they had trouble finding out why she would cry without her necklace, and they still weren't sure. All Leia knew was that touching it made her feel better, feeling the bumpy carved parts soothed her, the smooth side and the rough side.

Mother had said many times that the necklace was a gift from someone special. She had told her that the other half belonged to them. Leia wondered often, when she would think and stroke it in bed, who it was. She figured they felt the things she felt too.

Leia slipped the necklace over her head and looked at it. Her stomach felt warm as she thought about doing the thing she wasn't supposed to do, as commanded by her father. But she hadn't meant to do it - it had been an accident the first time.

Leia remembered, it was just a few months ago, studying her necklace like she was. She remembered being alone in her bed at night, and . . . feeling something inside her, feeling someone near her. It was then, after she had closed her eyes and focused on the sensation, when she had made the necklace float for the first time. It had been frightening, but she had grown used to it since. She could even make other things float, just small ones, after practicing.

Leia rubbed her thumb over the amulet, feeling frustrated that she wasn't allowed to do it anymore. Just three days ago, after her father had tucked her into bed, she had shown him her special trick, and he had not liked it. At all. That had been the angriest Leia had ever seen her daddy. He had grabbed her wrist, and said, "Do not ever . . . don't do this again. Do you understand? You tell no one else, you show no one - you will not speak of this to your mother. Am I clear?"

Daddy's eyes had been glossy with tears, and he had looked very scared. She had been very scared. Leia rubbed real tears from her eyes then, saddened at the memory, and put the necklace back on. She would obey her father; she would try.

Someone knocked on the closet again and a frustrated Leia groaned and cried out, "Go away you stinky nerf herder!"

She wasn't supposed to use such language, for it made her father roll his eyes and her mother blush; Leia smiled at the thought.

It was quiet for a moment, before the closet door opened slowly, revealing a tall broad figure dressed in a navy suit; the dark eyes much like Leia's own were drawn thin and serious. Leia's father folded his arms across his chest, another indication to the little girl of just how upset he was.

Leia bit her lip and scrunched her face a bit, looking up to her daddy with a half-smile. "Oops?"

Her father feigned a smile as he grabbed her ear, chuckling dryly as he followed her out, squeaking in discomfort, "Nice try, Princess."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Luke! . . . Luke . . ."

Luke Skywalker peeked out from his hinding place behind the base of a water vaporator, clearly hearing his Aunt Beru's calls but not heeding them. He knew it was nearing bedtime, by the low lazy suns in the orange sky, but was not tired. He never usually was.

The whisperkit pup in the sand before his folded legs chirped and chittered, and Luke stroked the soft brown fur and offered it more dried fruit. "You're not dirty, are you? No matter what Uncle Owen says."

It clicked in its throat happily, standing on its hind legs to munch. Luke grinned, as did his friend Windy.

"He's smart too, see?" Windy Starkiller's dark hair matched his dark mischievous eyes, and he held a pallie up above the creature's head and called, "Piri, jump! Jump Piri!"

Windy lifted the fruit a little, and the creature looked up to the treat and gave a leap. Luke laughed gleefully. "That's wizard! How'd you teach him that?"

"Darren showed me. He has a 'kit too ya know." Windy said, matter-of-factly, "Everyone has a pet."

Luke nodded, quiet. He tossed sand gently between his legs, knowing that his unkempt blonde hair covered his sad eyes. Windy whispered, "Have you asked them yet?"

Luke shook his head. He knew why he had not asked, but did not want to tell Windy. He was ashamed.

Luke had lived with his aunt and uncle forever, or at least since he was born. His life was not hard, but he always had chores unlike the other kids, and he never got to play. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru were not bad to him - they were the best Luke could ask for. Aunt Beru always remembered to wash his clothes and cut the crusts off of his sandwiches, and Uncle Owen only yelled when he was very upset and sometimes even let Luke power up their speeder.

Despite this, Luke could not help feeling left out sometimes. His school friends all owned new model speedsters and tool kits, and even had newer clothes than he did. Luke rarely got new things. Aunt Beru reminded him often that "me and Uncle Owen work hard, and don't always have extra credits like the other families do."

"Especially not to spend on children's junk." Uncle Owen would say, which would make Luke sad. He loved his Uncle, but wished he weren't so . . . grumpy. Luke knew his father had not been grumpy. He imagined his father often, flying all around the galaxy and navigating spice freighters, for that was what Uncle Owen said he did. He imagined what his mother would have been, probably pretty but sick, for she had died. Luke did not know anything about her, except that she was pretty and that she had given him her pendant.

He grabbed it from his pocket then, not letting Windy see, and slipped it over his head. The necklace helped him when he had bad feelings, the ones he could not control. Aunt Beru made sure he always had it, for once when he was very small they had went to Anchorhead without it and he had gotten very sick and would not stop crying. Luke didn't remember, but knew it had been very dangerous. He did not understand this, but he often felt like there was someone that felt these things too, somewhere.

Windy squinted as the dry dusty winds picked up, stroking Piri who had snuggled onto his lap, "So . . . what are you gonna do?"

Luke shrugged, remembering his dilemma. "I dunno. Uncle Owen will say no, I bet."

"Well, maybe not." Windy said hopefully. Luke liked how Windy was always hopeful, and how he talked with a stuffy nose. It made him laugh. "Maybe he'll give it as a present -"

Luke gasped, a grin finding his face as he spring to his feet. His eyes were wide as saucers and he nearly shouted, "You're a genius Windy! My birthday is in two more sleeps - I'll ask for a present! A pet!"

"Brilliant!" Windy cheered, and in the childish excitement of the moment the two jumped up and down, running about in circles and hollering happily. Piri skittered around their feet, making Luke giggle, and the whisperkit chased them round and round the moisture vaporator until they collapsed in exhaustion, laughing.

"Luke! Time to come in!"

Luke sighed, knowing he could no longer ignore the call. Windy smiled to him before he hopped to his feet, brushing sand from his hair and looking into the horizon, "There's my parents speeder. I gotta go - my Dad's gonna kill me!"

Luke waved as his friend raced off, Piri following close behind, to the landspeeder in the distance; he gathered his toy landspeeder and began quickly toward his sandy hovel. The suns were nearly set, and Luke could see as he approached that Uncle Owen had already switched on the security lights and sent out the KPR droids to patrol. Not good, he thought as he ran down the flight out stairs leading to the underground compound.

Luke stepped slowly into the small kitchen of his home, finding his aunt and uncle there waiting. Aunt Beru leaned against the sink, drying dishes with her apron. Her hair the colour of his own was pulled loosely back and her blue eyes like his own were soft in relief. People often thought Beru was his mother. Luke didn't mind.

Uncle Owen sat at the dinner table, fiddling with a droid submotor; he looked tired - both physically and emotionally. The face was shadowed with hair, and dirty from work in the sands; no one ever thought Uncle Owen was his father.

Luke stood, looking back and forth to each of them, waiting. He knew he had to be told to sit first. His eager little mind raced in excitement of asking his question. His palms felt warm and he wiggled his toes, unable to be still.

"Sit down, Luke."

Luke complied, sitting at the end of the table and placing his speeder before him. Uncle Owen continued, not looking him in the eyes. "Why didn't you come when your aunt called?"

Luke hesitated, his Uncle's gaze finding him sternly and his own looking to his hands. Maybe this was not a time to ask. "I - I was just talking to Windy, sir."

"About what?"

Luke winced. This was his chance. He bit his lip, suddenly afraid, but knowing he shouldn't lie. He could see how his uncle was, though, and his breaths quickened.

"You don't have to be afraid, Luke." Aunt Beru said gently; Uncle Owen looked to her impatiently, "Beru, let him talk -"

"I want something for my birthday!" Luke finally blurted.

The silence, pierced by sand crickets and wind, gave Luke a chill, as did Uncle Owen's words. He sat up, impatience and rudeness in the tone. "And what would that be, hm?"

Luke whispered, looking to his aunt, "I would like a pet for my birthday." He looked to the man, "A whisperkit, sir."

Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru exchanged a glance, the woman appearing more understanding than the man. They spoke wordlessly, a tilt of the head, a raising of brows. Luke felt butterflies in his stomach, and he clenched his toes anxiously.

Aunt Beru sat at the table, putting a hand over Luke's. "Luke, this is a big decision, one we'll have to think about. Animals are hard work -"

"And they die." Uncle Owen had put his face in his hands, "Whisperkits die on Tatooine."

Luke was choked by the words, shaking his head in denial, "Windy's is alive -"

"Windy bought his from a passing merchant, who sold it probably because it was sick anyways. Pick something else."

"Owen!" Aunt Beru cried.

"We might as well tell him the truth!" Owen addressed his wife sternly.

Luke, strangely, grew angry. He did not usually lash back at his aunt and uncle, but felt then he could not help himself. "I can keep it alive. I promise!"

"That is not something you can promise Luke -"

"I will! I swear!"

"Enough!" Uncle Owen slammed his palm onto the table, making the others jump, his voice coarse, "You are not getting a pet, do you hear me? Pets are money. Money we don't have and won't waste on something that's going to die in a week, you understand?"

Luke stared blankly at his uncles accusing finger, the one he only pointed when he was very, very upset. His lips trembled. It wasn't fair. Luke knew he had to be a good boy, to listen and obey, but he was tired of Uncle Owen always getting mad.

"No." Luke said.

"Excuse me?" Uncle Owen asked sharply, though he heard very clearly what the boy had said.

Luke pounded one little fist onto the table, repeating with conviction, "No! You buy droids and speeders and Aunt Beru buys her things - I need something too! All my friends have a new things, and I only want this one thing. Please, Uncle Owen?"

The boy breathed quickly, relieved by his confession but knowing the consequences. Uncle Owen stared, stock-stiff and still, and spoke under his breath in a tone dangerously low.

"How dare you disrespect me, your aunt, and all the work we've done for you -" Uncle Owen grabbed Luke's small arm harshly and pulled him to his feet.

Luke gave a cry of hurt, and Aunt Beru moved to them, grabbing Owen's shoulder and protesting, "Owen, he's just a boy -"

"Back away, Beru." Uncle Owen warned, his tone speaking louder than his words. His wife obeyed, releasing her grip and stepping back.

Luke rubbed his arm, trembling before the man, tears welling in his eyes. He could feel a darkness, a fire, seconds before his uncle acted - seconds too late. The hand reached into his tunic and grabbed at -

Uncle Owen tugged the leather strung necklace off of him, Luke's stomach sinking with dread. "No -"

The boy was struck sharply across the face with the back of a strong hand, and knocked to his bottom. For a moment, he sat stunned. If he was ever hit by his uncle, it was for punishment. But Luke could not figure out what he had done wrong.

Luke, though his lips trembled and tears came in a weak sob, saw his aunt move toward him, but with a sharp look Owen stopped her again. He firmed his voice, showing no sympathy to the boy as he tossed the necklace on the sandy floor.

"We are leaving tomorrow for Alderaan. Your aunt's cousin is dead, and we have to attend the funeral and help pay the expenses. We have no money for anything else but this trip, unless you want to go without food for a few days. Go to your room, pack your things and go to bed, you hear?"

"Yes sir." Luke grabbed the necklace and scampered away to his room, not bothering to retrieve his precious toy speeder, slamming the door behind himself and pressing his back up against it. Luke held his necklace tightly, stroking the rough edge and smooth edge, the carved parts, and calming. He did not know what would have happened without it. His breathes were shuddered and weak, and he hiccuped and covered his mouth to make sure they didn't hear him cry.

**Author's Note:**

> Hellooooo readers! So I have posted this on a different site but I thought I would spread the love and post it here as well! It's one of my favourite fics I have written so please let me know how you like it! :D - Ellisaed


End file.
